


And When It All Goes To Hell

by IWrtBksNtTrgds (orphan_account)



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Abuse, Angst, BDSM, Depression, Dom/sub, Drug Dealing, Friends With Benefits, Human Trafficking, Incest, Kinda making it up as it goes, M/M, Mental Abuse, Money, Prostitution, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Smut, Soul Punk, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Vandays, greed - Freeform, uhh this is gonna change pretty frequently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12308247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/IWrtBksNtTrgds
Summary: Blue eyes, blond hair, just on the chubby side with a microphone at his lips and his eyes trained on the small crowd throughout the room. The name on the bottom of the Polaroid shines in dark ink and messy, but legible, writing.Patrick Martin Stumph."Do we have a deal, Vaughn?" William asks, slowly pulling the picture back.Vaughn shuts his eyes but after a long, drawn out moment of thinking, of processing, of revising, he nods."We have a deal."





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my second attempt at getting a good/popular/just decent story out lmao
> 
> Please, please, please check the tags between updates. I’m still working out the plot and stuff but I know there’s gonna be a ton of angst and it’ll probably change as this story progresses, thank you!

"Vaughn? Is that your name?"

The voice is a tease, light, but somewhat menacing from where it emits deep inside Will's chest up to those chapped, pale lips. The blond stares right back at him with cold eyes and an even colder heart, his fingers tapping impatiently against the wood of the table. When he parts his lips, a fitting voice presses through, but it's almost unfitting in a sense. It's colder than his warm, blond looks. The dark fedora on his head and the dark red cardigan wrapped around his shoulders makes him look gentle, /sweet/ almost. But Will knows better than that. He knows everything Vaughn's done to everyone he knows. He knows about the ways he keeps those pockets full of cash and he knows about how the ways he keeps his business running. It's anything but pretty. He knows about the ziplock bags of white and the men and women that'll dress pretty for his clients. Will's seen it all, even if he's never really participated.

"Yeah," He mumbles, looking up at the bartender and giving a stiff nod, "I'd think you would know who I am by now."

"Well, I've never talked to you upfront, now, have I?" Will gives a soft tug of his lips, "I've been meaning to talk to you about a possible... relationship we could build if you're interested. Could bring you some money past anything you’ve ever had."

"I already have hundreds of thousands, and I know you well enough, Will. You're not successful enough to /have/ any more than that. You're gonna have to offer a lot more than just some money and a good relationship." The bartender sets down a small bottle of scotch in front of Vaughn with a soft nod, returning to one of their other clients with a shot of whiskey.

"I'm offering a lot more than just /some/ money, Vaughn. There's a new client of mine. Ryan Ross, you know him?" The name brings a sharp inhale in Vaughn's chest, followed by a soft nod. The name isn't one lightly spoken, and the thought that he would be a client of William Beckett's is almost absurd. Vaughn's ears twitch at the sound of the name. His attention's been caught, and Will knows all he has to do is reel him in with the rest of it.

"Well, you see. If you know his line of business, you'll know that he's looking for some people. I've been sent to /get/ some of those people for him and I've been offered quite a bit. Quite a bit by /his/ standards. Now, I'd be willing to split some of that money with you. Twenty percent. He asked for five, and the man I'm asking you to get is one of them."

"How much are we talking about exactly?" Vaughn asks, downing a gulp of the scotch. It burns down his throat, down his chest, and all the way to his stomach where it sits.

Will clears his throat, gazing around the club warily with brown eyes and pale lips, "We're talking two hundred million."

Vaughn blinks, and after a long moment, he nods, eyes wide, "Alright. Who is it, then?"

"I think you might know," Beckett replies with piercing eyes. He inches his hand inside the pocket of his overcoat and pulls out the picture, sliding it over to the dealer. 

Vaughn takes a breath as his eyes reach those thick wrists and the black cuffs. The trucker's hat and the sideburns and the guitar. Blue eyes, blond hair, just on the chubby side with a microphone at his lips and his eyes trained on the small crowd throughout the room. The name on the bottom of the Polaroid shines in dark ink and messy, but legible, writing.

Patrick Martin Stumph.

"Do we have a deal, Vaughn?" William asks, slowly pulling the picture back.

Vaughn shuts his eyes but after a long, drawn out moment of thinking, of processing, of revising, he nods.

"We have a deal."


	2. Chapter 2

Pete's fingernails drag down Patrick's back, sharp and desperate, pleasured and pained. The slapping of skin against skin bounces off the bus walls, the soft grunts from Pete following them and Patrick's breathy moans coming in not long after. The bed squeaks under them at a rhythm neither of them know well enough to memorize. But it's fast enough for them to be too breathless to speak. It's not like they would, anyway, it'd be weird. It's just not right. You don't dirty talk to someone who's nothing more than a friend... right?

Pete moans Patrick's name, his hips twitching and his cock leaking as it slides between their sweaty stomachs, leaving a sticky, clear residue against where the skin brushes and creates more friction than the older can handle. The blond's just barely hanging on on his own. The sight of Pete - Pete fucking Wentz, his bandmate, his friend, his first resort - under him, with his mouth in a sharp O and his eyes squeezed shut, his hair dark and sticky against his forehead and his muscles tensing and sharpening under him, it's almost too much. It's pulling him closer and closer to the edge, knotting a rope around his stomach tighter and tighter and he doesn't think he can last.

Pete lets out a guttural moan, as if the porn couldn't get any hotter, and pulls Patrick closer, twisting his thighs sharply around the other's hips and digging his fingers sharp into the blond's shoulders. Patrick knows he can't take it and those sinful moans become just too much for him.

"'M gonna cum," He mumbles into Pete's neck just before nipping the skin, "F-fuck."

"Me too," Pete breaths almost inaudibly, "Me, too. Oh god, oh god, oh god," He chants the words like they'll save him from the intensity, but Patrick's got him grounded. He's not escaping.

The head of his cock shoves hard into Pete's prostate and just like that, it's too much. The darker man comes, spilling in at least ten solid squirts between their stomachs and chests, some even getting across his thighs and a little going as far as his upper chest. Patrick releases not long after, filling the condom with his load and gripping at the bedsheets beneath Pete's back. It's too much, his head is spinning but his eyes are shut tight. His cry pushes through the room even though his lips are buried in Pete's neck, and his breaths are labored even though he's been trying to maintain it. And he collapses, pulling himself to the side as to not suffocate Pete and just laying there beside the bassist, staring at the ceiling of their van and gripping the other's hand in a sharp embrace.

Pete's shuts his eyes, chest rising and falling at a slowly decreasing rate and he doesn't even notice Patrick holding his hand until the blond yanks his away in a sharp, flustered motion. He clears his throat and grits his teeth as he looks away with a deeply embarrassed expression. He shouldn't have done that. Pete doesn't mind as much as the blond does, or if he does, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he just sits up and grabs his boxers, lowering his eyes from 'Trick and clearing his throat. Neither of them say a word - neither of them ever do. It's just their routine, it's been that way for the past year, ever since Pete caught Patrick with a hand around his cock and Pete's name on his lips back on the 2004 Warped Tour. Back when he had first suggested it and Patrick had agreed with an eager yes and his eyes wide.

It's just been routine. Always has been, always will be.

"Are you listening to me?"

Patrick blinks, shifting his glance to Pete beside him with that stupid fringe he's been working on and those stupid dark eyes that always seem to stare right into Patrick's soul.

"Huh?"

"I was talking about the next album," He mumbles, "I've been thinking about doing something like Van Gogh themed, y'know? Gold and blue. I've started working on some of the lyrics for a few songs."

The blond nods even though Pete has his back turned and is working on his belt. Patrick quickly does the same, "Okay, so like... Starry night? Something like that? That'd be cool."

Pete nods silently, his thoughts obviously gone a little darker. He finishes with his jeans and once he slips on his hoodie, he slips out the side of the van and shoves his hands in his pockets with a stifled sigh. Tired, stressed, obviously something's bothering him and Patrick's dying to know what it is. He wishes it would just be easier for him. He wishes he could just peer into his mind and see what the hell's bothering him. But alas, there's nothing he can see. Nothing.

He pulls his knees to his chest once he's got his shirt back on and leans against the door, staring out the window to the empty parking lot. Andy and Joe are probably still taking their break, eating lunch. Patrick wishes he'd come with. Sure, the sex is great and all - Patrick's just barely out of his teens - but he's finding that it's just not satisfying anymore. Not with Pete, at least. He's seen the guy too depressed afterwards. He's seen how it bothers him and it kills Patrick inside. Ever since the little /incident/ - as his manager called it - in 2004, he just hasn't been the same. He's been distant. He's been gone and Patrick's fucking desperate to know what keeps him awake. The insomnia? The depression? He wants to help, honest. He's just not sure how.

Patrick takes a breath and after a long moment, leaves the van and calls to Pete that he's going inside. Pete mumbles something back, something Patrick doesn't quite catch, but he takes it as a signal that he's good to go. He heads past the cars, his heart drumming in his ears and his eyes low to the ground as he pulls his hoodie closer around himself. He doesn't feel right, he never does after that shit. And it's not just because Pete gets depressed. It's because of his own goddamn problems with it all.

He pushes his way through the doors of the restaurant and takes a sharp right to the bathrooms, wasting no time in locking himself in the men's room and breaking down. All his barriers come down then and there and he can't even stand on sturdy knees. He falls forward, gripping the sink with an iron squeeze and watching himself in the mirror. His eyes graze that fat face, those darkened blue eyes, that honey blond hair. It disgusts him. 

Why isn't he enough? Does he need to get skinnier? Does he need to dye it all black? Does he need to quit looking Pete in the eye? Maybe it would be better if he just stopped eating altogether. Maybe it would be better if he just got rid of it all. Maybe...

He stares down at his arms, pale, pristine, untouched. His eyes flicker across the faded blue veins beneath his skin and beneath his fat. Beneath all those disgusting layers...

The blond pulls away with a dark growl. Frustrated, pissed, sad, conflicted. Why isn't he enough for Pete? Why isn't Pete ever satisfied? Why are they just friends?

Why can't they just be more?

His fingers scratch across his arms, his eyes lower, and just like that, he turns and pulls himself to the toilet, shoving two fingers down his throat.

It's for the best, he knows it is.

***

"Hey, Trick, where were you?" Joe asks as the vocalist makes his way inside the van beside Pete in the back.

"Had to piss," He mumbles, it's not entirely a lie. Honest, "What took you guys so long?" 

Andy glares at Joe who only gives a playful shrug in reply, "Joe decided he just /had/ to go flirting with the goddamned waitress at the bar."

"You have to admit she was kinda hot," Joe mumbles.

"Long story short they kicked us out for having weed on us and threatened to call the police."

Patrick rolls his eyes, a playful grin tugging at his lips. It only turns wider when he sees Pete finally begin to loosen up when he releases a small, "You're a fucking idiot."

"She loved it," The guitarist chuckles as they pull out of the parking lot and begin making their way down the highway. Patrick can't help but stare at Pete. At that stupid fringe and that sharp grin.

He'll get better. He really will. And maybe, just maybe.

Patrick might be enough for the bassist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments + kudos are greatly appreciated!’


	3. Chapter 3

It's times like these when Patrick lies awake at night and stares at the hotel ceilings when he feels the most alone. When all the kids from their shows have gone home and when not even Pete is there by his side. He tells himself everyone goes through this. Everyone feels this lonely in their life at some point but... honestly? He feels fucking desperate to have someone by his side. Not even to kiss. Just to be there, a shoulder to cry to. Because his stomach is growling and he's felt dizzy lately and it's only been a week.

He squints, tries to change the shapes of the ceiling but nothing works and he's left to just lay there and stare and think and - honestly - thinking is something he could do without. But he thinks anyway. Of Pete, of what he might be thinking right now, probably of some girl in Vegas or something. He thinks of Pete fucking her, just some random girl and how much more he would like that than having to deal with Patrick so much. He thinks about how much skinnier that girl would be, she wouldn't be underweight, but she'd definitely be on the lower side of the scale. Her pretty blond hair would tangle on the sheets. She'd probably have big boobs, maybe D's. Maybe DD's. And her stomach would be flat as hell. She'd have a super curvy waist and it would be almost sickening with how curved it would be.

Patrick takes his thoughts away from there, because it only makes him more depressed and he thinks about home. About Mom and Dad and... and Vaughn. He tries not to think about Vaughn all that much, but sometimes he can't help it. He hates Vaughn, he really fucking does. He's always been the older, better brother. The one who's more intelligent. The one who knows how to make a living. Mom and Dad don't know about the prostitution or the drug cartel, hell no. But they know about the club. They know about the drinks. And that's all they will ever know. 

They won't know about how he talks to people who sell people like fucking /slaves/. They won't know about how Vaughn sends out prostituted young girls to please all the creepy sixty year olds and only gives them maybe 20% of their earnings. They don't know, and they will never know about how he sells drugs, underpays prostitutes, and seduces anyone he can get his hands on. They will only ever know about the club, and that's all they'll ever know about.

Patrick has to physically peel himself away from that thought, pulling his knees to his chest and squeezing with as much force as he can muster. Vaughn. Vaughn. Vaughn.

/"That feel good, Pat?" Vaughn chuckles dark into Patrick's ear. The chubbier blond throws his head back, panting with his chest rising and falling at a quick pace and his fingers gripping at the sheets behind him in desperate, shaky movements. The skinnier boy in front of him jerks him a little slower, flicking his slit and watching Trick collapse back into the mattress legs braced and sweat clinging to his pleasured face, "God, you love it, don't you?"/

Patrick chokes back a sob, squeezing his knees in tighter and trying to will back the tears. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

/"V-Vaughn" Patrick chokes, "Please, I wanna..."

/"Not yet," Vaughn replies, "I brought a toy today, yeah? I wanna try it out if you're okay with it."

/"Oh, god, yes," The other groans, watching his brother lean under the bed and pull out a vibrator, "Where'd you get it?"

/"Mikey gave it to me for a blowjob and a condom, told me to use it on myself, but we both know I wasn't even thinking about that," Vaughn replies with a soft chuckle, "I should tie you to the bed, force you to call me sir and just take it. Wouldn't that be hot for a pretty little thing like you?"/

Patrick's pulled from his thoughts by the vibration of his phone on his bedside table. He feels all the thoughts disappearing from his mind in a rush, like a waterfall from a cliff, and he slowly reaches forward, grabbing it and checking the ID. 

Vaughn.

It takes him a long moment to will himself to answer, trying not to break down. Trying not to just scream and wake half the hotel. It's okay. He's okay. He can't be hurt again. Not like that. He has shields now, he has protection. There are people who will come if he screams for them loud enough. It'll be okay.

"Vaughn?" His breaths are slightly uneven, his knees still pulled to his chest and his eyes roaming the room, looking for nothing in particular, just something to get his mind off of any of this.

"Hey, Pat, how are you doing?" Vaughn sounds happy, he sounds like he just got a blowjob and the post-sex haze has begun to wear off. He's giddy. It chills Patrick's very spine because Vaughn never has good intentions when he's like that.

"I'm doing okay," Patrick replies, thinking fast to find something casual to say and make it not sound like he's seconds from a mental breakdown, "I was just thinking about you when you called," he laughs empty and wide, "What's up?"

"Well, I was just wondering when your next show will be. You /are/ touring right now, aren't you? I swear I heard one of your songs on the radio the other day," He's charming him up, Patrick knows it.

"Yes, I am actually. Our next show is in Orlando tomorrow. Not sure what theater. Why do you ask?" 

"I wanted to come visit you. Just for a brotherly visit, y'know?" Theres an edge of sensuality to that statement, of sex and sweat and cum. The kind they've grown to share.

"Vaughn... I..."

"Pat, man, c'mon. It'll be fun," Vaughn replies with a sly smile, "And anyways, when's the last time you've... y'know... with someone /else/?"

"I don't want to talk about," Patrick murmurs uncomfortably, "And anyways, it's not like it's your fucking business, Vaughn."

"It /is/ my business," Vaughn replies with a slightly possessive voice, "Tell me, who was the first person to touch that little cock? And the first person to slide into that delicious ass? 'Cause it sure as hell wasn't Joe."

Patrick lowers his eyes because he already knows that he's closing up and caving in. Vaughn knows what drives him soft and hard all at the same time. Vaughn knows his way through the maze that is Patrick Martin Stump. He hasn't forgotten everything from their childhood. He never will forget, and honestly neither will Patrick. Not if he tried. And he has. A lot.

"Are you thinking about it, Pat? Are you thinking about what happened?" Vaughn has a grin on his face, sly and sexual and intimate.

"Vaughn, please, just..." Patrick winces, "I'm going. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?

"Don't you fucking dare hang up, Patrick," Vaughn snaps, "Keep that phone to your ear and listen to me."

He's desperate to just hang up and leave and break down but he knows his brother never lets up that easy. Ever.

"You belong to me, is that understood? And if you even think that you'll be let loose like that, I'll put you through worse than I have before. You. Are. Mine. You obey me and only me."

Patrick nods even though Vaughn can't see. He wipes the tears from his cheeks and after a long moment, he replies with a small, "I understand."

"Good. Go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow," Vaughn mumbles, "Don't even think about touching yourself tonight, okay?"

"O-Okay."

"Bye."

"B-Bye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!!!
> 
> Also feel free to message my tumblr @imkasthtcsnttrgds !!! Thx guys :)


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick's distant the next day, he barely recalls half the day, spends most of it just staring off into space and dreading after the show. He wonders if Vaughn will be there. If he could play it off like he just didn't see his brother and... and... fuck that would never work. Maybe if he... if he... god. There's no getting away from his brother, Patrick knows that. He knows that no matter how far he may run, no matter how well he may hide, Vaughn will be there. Always has been and always will be.

He wonders if Vaughn will notice how his breath smells, because he's been puking and starving a lot. Well, he wouldn't call it starving or puking. More like just having a really upset stomach. It's just temporary. Honest. He wonders if Vaughn will see the little slits on his thighs from the nights he held a razor and just swiped four tiny marks into his precious skin until droplets of red rose to the surface and finally down his leg until the shower water washed it away or Patrick ended up making it deeper and he wonders if Vaughn will notice how he always keeps his pills close by and how he takes them as soon as he can and when he can because they seem to be the only thing that can wash these thoughts away and he wonders if Vaughn will notice the hickeys on his chest from Pete and -

"Patrick!"

He gasps, eyes wide and muscles tensing as he jumps, snapping from his thoughts back to reality. Pete's standing there looking worried and Joe's not far behind staring as well. He must have blanked. Must not have been thinking straight. He can never seem to get his thoughts in order anymore.

"We're going up, come on." Patrick nods, quickly slinging his guitar over his shoulder and following Pete onstage with a false smile and a his movements shallow. He's hiding under his hat, he's staying hunched over. The introduction is short, the actual show shorter. He fumbles, and stutters and tries to get a grip but he swears he keeps catching glances of Vaughn somewhere in the crowd but it keeps turning out wrong.

Somewhere in Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes - their last song - he finds the man, though. He's in a plain black dress shirt and sporting a pair of jeans, too pristine for such an intense concert. His narrow cheekbones seem even more defined and his piercing blue eyes are gazing right into Patrick's. He misses a high note, gasps instead just as Pete presses his forehead to his neck and licks a large strip up his chest. The crowd screams almost as loud as Patrick's mind.

Their performance fails.

After the show, Patrick lowers his head while Pete asks him what the hell happened and Joe and Andy just sigh and go off to their own business, mumbling to each other about how bad the performance is. Patrick can't talk, his tongue is swollen, his mouth is numb and no matter how hard he tries, he just can't bring himself to look at his best friend.

"Do you need some help?" Pete asks, "I mean, you know I can help put off some stress but still... I mean if you need anything I'm here."

"I'm fine," Patrick manages, throwing his guitar into the case and packing it up, "Vaughn's gonna be here soon, I gotta go."

"Hey," Pete frowns, but Patrick only bumps past him and throws his instrument in the van, not saying a word before leaning back against the alley wall and grabbing his phone.

"Bye, Pete."

The bassist glares at Patrick but after a long moment, he just shakes his head and mumbles a soft, "Fuck you," before leaving him out in the cold.

***

Vaughn shows up not long after, a cigarette between his lips and his hands in his pockets. He scares Patrick half to death when he prods his brother's shoulder with a bored look, eyes dim and lips chapped. When Patrick finally calms his racing heart, he stands and gives the taller a soft shake of his hand.

"Hey, Dude, what's up?"

"Not much," Vaughn smiles faintly, "How about you? I heard about his little place downtown we could head to, a restaurant bar thing."

"Sure, I'd be up to that," Patrick replies, avoiding Vaughn's gaze and shoving his fingers in his pockets and hunching his shoulders so he doesn't have to see Vaughn. All those memories are coming back again and when Vaughn stops Patrick mid step to pin him against the wall and inch their lips closer. Every little moment he remembers of giving in, of submitting to Vaughn's weight and realizing just how pathetic he is all goes to the front of his mind. His healing has gone to the back. 

It's a relapse of every sort, it's a poison stabbing his heart. And he cannot hold it off any longer.

Vaughn connects their lips, taking a dominant, controlling side and kissing him hard, his tongue flicking in and out of Patrick's mouth, almost fucking it while his hands pin Patrick's up against the brick wall of the alley. It's just how Vaughn works. He runs businesses, he doesn't work for them. He's always in control. Always.

Patrick goes limp in Vaughn's arms, shutting his eyes and inhaling deep against the taller. It's a drug, that dominance. It's a drug and Patrick is falling again.

He is Vaughn's again. And he hates that he loves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a kind of crappy chapter but I promise there's smut to come in the next!!


	5. Chapter 5

Patrick remembers how this all started as clear as if it happened just yesterday. It's not something he likes remembering but all those memories keep coming back to him as Vaughn presses the other to his knees and shoves his cock between those pretty, swollen lips.

It started when Patrick was just five. They were close growing up, but they sure as hell didn't cling to each other. They trusted each other with secrets and told each other about all the girls from school they wanted to marry when they grew up. Patrick was never really attracted to all that stuff though. Sure, girls are beautiful and all, but he just didn't think about them all that much. That was normal, Vaughn could talk about that one Hayley Williams all he wanted, Patrick really didn't get it.

But what changed it all was when he saw something on TV. He was five years old, and he had no idea what he saw. Well, he did know what he saw he had just never really... thought of it.

He saw a couple of boys kissing.

Patrick had immediately run up to Vaughn's room and spit out exactly what he saw and how he thinks he might be into guys and not girls and he asked if Vaughn thought that was weird and Vaughn had just rolled his eyes and leaned forward.

And he /kissed/ Patrick. Right on the lips. It was a peck, of course, what kindergartener knows how to kiss? But Patrick knew that he was gay, right then and there. 

Over the next few years, the slightly curiosities he pressed to his mom and dad always ended with them telling him it's wrong and sinful and disgusting. Vaughn always comforted Patrick when he felt bad about that, when he felt dirty, and as the years of their teens came, they began going a little farther.

Vaughn began getting more and more possessive, making sure people /knew/ Patrick was his. This was around the time that Patrick learned that incest, too, is disgusting. And he felt dirty. 

This lead to a depressive spiral, Patrick feeling so disappointed in himself, so disgusting and ugly and dirty. It was bad enough that he was gay, but that he's attracted to his own /brother/? He took showers constantly, scratched the sin from his skin and turned the water on so hot that he would scream when nobody was home.

Vaughn worried about Patrick, he worried so badly because he knew Patrick was weak, and he wasn't doing okay at all. And Vaughn wanted to help.

So he took ownership of Patrick.

He started kissing Patrick more, stayed with him at all times and whenever their parents left, he would reassure that Patrick was /his/ and his alone. He would fuck his brother, tell him what a pretty slut he was once they turned seventeen. Because maybe all that filth doesn't matter. All that matters is that Patrick is Vaughn's and it will always be that way.

But it did more harm than good. It began to grow unhealthy, Vaughn would hit Patrick when he disobeyed, and Patrick began to need Vaughn so badly that he was completely and totally dependent on him. He could not think for himself. He could not do anything by himself anymore, and it was a problem. Especially when people began to notice.

And it got to the point where if Patrick disappointed Vaughn, he would leave. Just leave and not return for a week. By this time, they'd moved out of their parents' house and they were both 19. Patrick needed Vaughn more than ever, and it was one day when Vaughn was gone for two days in a row that he slowly began to realize what he had turned into. He realized just how much Vaughn had taken control of him. And he couldn't live like this any longer.

He cleaned himself up, tried to convince himself that he didn't need Vaughn, that he needed to move on. That he needed to get away from what Vaughn had turned him into. He cleaned his cuts, reminded himself every day that he's strong enough on his own even if he didn't quite believe it and when Vaughn returned, he walked right out of that house and drove away to start again. 

They talked sometimes through phone, Patrick went to counseling, and slowly build himself up again, in a way that Vaughn couldn't tear down while Vaughn, himself, found his own success.

But there are always flaws, because the last time Vaughn called Patrick up, back when he was recording Take This to Your Grave, and the last time Vaughn took him into a hotel room, he broke again. Because he wasn't strong enough. Because no matter how much he may think he's healed, he still feels absolutely filthy. He still feels dirty and disgusting. And he hates that Vaughn still has all that control over him.

He's really trying to heal, he tells himself as Vaughn throws him on the bed and whispers filthy things in his ear, slipping his cock in Patrick's tight ass, he just has no idea how.

Vaughn was just trying to help, he didn't know it would get this far, he didn't know what kind of monster it would turn him into. Patrick was just trying to feel clean, he didn't know it would turn him into a slave for his own goddamned brother. He didn't know. But there's no going back, because the damage has already been dealt and Patrick still hates himself.

And Vaughn hates the bruises on Patrick's neck.

"What happened?" Vaughn mumbles, tracing the hickey Pete had sucked into his chest just a couple nights before, "Who did that?"

"Pete," Patrick pants, wincing and clenching around the harsh stretch, "Fuck, Pete did."

Vaughn shoves a hand around Patrick's throat, choking him against the mattress and growling possessively, "Pete did? Does he own this pretty little ass now? Does he fuck you at night when you thought I wouldn't mind?"

"V-aughn!" Patrick chokes, scratching at Vaughn's fist desperately. The taller lets go, watching Patrick gasp for a breath before he shoves the other's thighs up and begins fucking him, hard and fast, sending shivers down Patrick's spine and short sobs of pain and pleasure from his lips.

"You are mine, is that understood?" Vaughn growls, "You will always be mine and you're fucking stupid to think any differently."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Patrick sobs, "Please, I just - "

"Shut the fuck up," Vaughn growls, slamming his entire body weight into his thrusts and watching Patrick choke and sob and quite literally cry in pleasure, "Say it, you're mine. I own this pretty little ass, this pretty body, everything."

"I don't..." Patrick winces, he can't say it. He doesn't. He's enough on his own, he's enough on his own, he doesn't need Vaughn, doesn't need...

"Come on you fucking Slut, say it."

"Yours," Patrick chokes, "I'm yours."

"Good boy," Vaughn groans, thrusting into Patrick as deep as he can get, "All mine, nobody else's. Not Pete, not Joe, not Andy. Nobody's."

"All yours," The chubbier boy whispers. Vaughn fists his cock, watching him moan and squirm and groan in pleasure, "Feels so good, can I cum? Please?"

Vaughn shakes his head, falling forward so his lips can capture Patrick's dominating the kiss and taking the lead, "Wait like a good little whore."

Patrick groans, his body tight and rigid as Vaughn slams right into his prostate and jerks him rough, it almost hurts. But Patrick manages, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth as his brother slams into him, "Cum in three."

The dirty blond shuts his eyes, whining into the air, "Two."

Vaughn cuts off Patrick's air flow as he whispers out the last word, "One."

Patrick comes undone screaming under Vaughn, his ass clenches hard around his brother and his muscles go rigid and taut as he comes in seven solid squirts across his stomach and Vaughn's stomach and with the way he's bent, some even reaches his neck.

Vaughn pulls out, jerking quick and rough into Patrick's face and finishing his load across his cheeks and forehead and lips not long after,

"Beautiful," Vaughn mumbles.

Disgusting, Patrick thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here so some backstory finally oops

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget to leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed! These chapters will be longer in the future and such so yeah. Thanks again, the next update will be out soon!


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